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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26814169">Blossom.</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/psyleedee/pseuds/psyleedee'>psyleedee</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Supernatural</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Accidental Theft, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Neighbors, Based on a Tumblr Post, Bee-Lover Castiel (Supernatural), Blushing Castiel, Blushing Dean, Castiel and Dean Winchester are Neighbors, Crushes, Cute Castiel (Supernatural), Dead Mary Winchester, Falling In Love, First Meetings, Flower Thief Dean, Fluff, Gardener Castiel (Supernatural), Holding Hands., M/M, Meet-Cute, Meeting the Parents, Office Worker Dean Winchester, Romantic Fluff</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-10-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-10-07</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:21:23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,885</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26814169</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/psyleedee/pseuds/psyleedee</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In short, Castiel's Friday morning is as picture perfect as it gets—</p><p>Except for the man who steals his flowers each morning.</p><p>The only anomaly in Castiel's clearly fabricated routine— his neighbour, Dean Winchester.</p><p>The man is as shameless as can be. Who does he think he is?</p><p>Showing up at the front of Castiel's garden each morning, with his backpack hanging low off one shoulder, his firm, taut arms, straining the fabric of his formal shirts, his tall, broad physique on display, his short, spiky blonde hair and his gorgeous green eyes, looking absolutely not beautiful, and plucking out a handful of Castiel's flowers, before walking away like he owns the place.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Castiel/Dean Winchester</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>152</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Blossom.</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Based on a Tumblr post. </p><p>(fluff :) pure fluff. babies dean cas oof.)</p><p>EDIT: Check out the gorgeous art that @chasingorbits (aka @theoddsofus on tumblr) made for my fic down below! Thank you once again for the lovely art sweetie!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  
</p><p>It's a perfect, bright blue morning in the small suburban area of Lawrence, Kansas. The sun's rays dance with mirth on the pavement, and not a single trace of gloom or rain lingers in the air. The birds outside Castiel's windows are chirping, the mother dropping a little worm into her fledglings beaks. The aroma of fresh pecan pie floats through Castiel's home, and it reminds him of his perfect, little life here in the suburbia of Havenshire. His garden, which lays right outside the front of his house, is in bloom. It's a pleasant November morning, the air is thick with a lull, and his beloved children, his flowers— carnations, roses, peonies and poppies are in full blossom.</p><p>
  
</p><p>As Castiel steps out on his porch this morning, he feels an electric buzz thrumming under his skin. He feels giddy, he feels happy, he feels content. Things have been going according to his routine all morning. His coffee had been perfect, not too cold, not too hot. His breakfast, eggs and bacon— perfect. His clothes? Freshly laundered, and smelling like detergent heaven. Not to mention, his favourite, fuzzy, blue honey-bee socks were fresh out of the dryer, and fit snug against his feet. He had chatted with Mildred, a kind, old woman who lives across him for a while about her past romantic conquests (it has been a little hard to swallow up the fact that Mildred had had more action in a single phase of her youth than Castiel had in his entire thirty-three years, but he refrained himself from feeling too down).</p><p>In short, his Friday morning is as picture perfect as it gets—</p><p>Except for the man who steals his flowers each morning.</p><p>The only anomaly in Castiel's clearly fabricated routine— his neighbour, Dean Winchester.</p><p>The man is as shameless as can be. Who does he think he is?</p><p>Showing up at the front of Castiel's garden each morning, with his backpack hanging low off one shoulder, his firm, taut arms, straining the fabric of his formal shirts, his tall, broad physique on display, his short, spiky blonde hair and his gorgeous green eyes, looking absolutely <em>not</em> beautiful, and plucking out a handful of Castiel's flowers, before walking away like he owns the place.</p><p>Hmph. What a pain in the ass (and not the good kind).</p><p>And not like he's so <em>deliciously</em> Castiel's type. Not like Castiel finds himself drooling every time he grins. Not like Castiel has an erm, small crush on him. Small. Very, very minute. Tiny. Invisible, almost.</p><p>But be as beautiful as he may, he is still a thief. A flower-napper. How dare he.</p><p>And never once has he apologized. Does he think those flowers are for public display? Does he think he can simply swoop in, grab a flower, and leave, <em>just like that</em>?</p><p>Idiot.</p><p><em>But a cute idiot</em>.</p><p>Ugh.</p><p>It isn't even the mere fact that he steals the flowers. It's the wistful smile he has on his face each morning as he does. Surely, a man that beautiful has to be straight. And if judging by the flowers— taken. So Castiel supposes, whoever these flowers might be for, she has to be beautiful, hasn't she? And part of Castiel is curious to know whose hands those flowers eventually end up in every morning.</p><p>Which is why, Castiel decides, enough is enough.</p><p>A month has passed by already with his neighbour stealing flowers from him. Castiel will no longer tolerate such insolence.</p><p>As he walks down his porch and into his garden, he glances down at his watch. It's 8.55 AM, which means Dean will be leaving right this moment for work.</p><p>Subtle as can be, Castiel crouches down near a far bush, his eyes however, tracking the front of his garden as a hawk— alert and vigilante.</p><p>Today, Castiel will finally confront the flower thief.</p><p>As expected, at 8.56 AM, Dean steps out on his porch, dressed in his <em>delectable</em> corporate wardrobe, and a bright, green tie which matches his eyes. He glances down at his watch, then up at his car— a big black thing parked on his driveway— before gliding down the steps of his porch. His eyes remained focused on the watch on his hand, before turning up, a bit morose, moreso than the days before.</p><p>Now that's strange.</p><p>Each time Dean has plucked one of Castiel's flowers, he's always had a woozy, reminiscent smile on his face. Today however, his smile has been replaced with a tiny frown.</p><p>As predicted, his pace falters as he nears the garden outside Castiel's house, and Castiel tears his eyes away from the man, willing himself to focus on trimming the bush. From the corner of his eye, he notes how Dean's eyes linger on him for a moment, as if studying him, until at last, he leans down to grab a handful of flowers.</p><p>Castiel rises up in time, meeting the man's eyes from across the garden.</p><p>"Dean," he calls out, voice firm and commanding, and at once, the other man's eyes widen, and Castiel prides himself on having caught the man red-handed as he struts over to the front of the garden.</p><p>"Erm," Dean gulps, his eyes studying Castiel's face, "-do I know you?"</p><p>
  <em>Does he know me? Hmph. Wait, does he really not?</em>
</p><p>"Well, considering the fact that you've been stealing flowers from my garden this past month, I'd be rather surprised if you didn't."</p><p>"Your garden?" Dean asks, almost dumbfounded, and Castiel sighs. The pretty ones are always the dumbest.</p><p>"Yes, my garden. See that big, giant box of concrete over there?" Castiel asks, pointing his thumb back to his house, "-I live in it. It's mine. And legally, this garden is also mine."</p><p>Realisation seems to dawn upon the man's (adorable) face, as he puckers and scrunches his eyebrows.</p><p>"Well, why didn't you get a fencing?"</p><p>Castiel could almost gasp. The sheer impertinence?!</p><p>"Wha— if I could afford it, I would. That doesn't excuse you stealing my flowers. I work so hard for them all year, and you just pluck them off like you own them." He argues, watching as Dean tries to bite back a snort.</p><p>"What's funny?"</p><p>"Nothing it's just you—" Dean's eyes flick to something above Castiel with a refrained grin, and Castiel in turn, furrows his eyebrows, now confused. What is Dean looking at?</p><p>
  
</p><p>"Is there something on my head?"<br/>Castiel asks— only to flush with searing heat in the face as he recalls the honeybee-themed bucket hat he wore before stepping out of his house. He grabs it and flings it off his head, holding it behind his back as he attempts at containing his embarrassment.</p><p>"Stop it, it's my favourite," He mumbles, now flustered and a bit glum as he stares down at his feet.</p><p>"Hey, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to laugh, it's just, it's very cute." Dean snorts, and a wide smile spreads across his face as he steps closer to Castiel. It's as if the wind if punched out of Castiel the moment the scent of his sharp cologne hits his senses.</p><p>"Don't— don't think you can charm your way out of this," Castiel pouts, and feels Dean's eyes study him, before he chuckles softly, the tiny frown on his face long gone.</p><p>"Well, maybe if I'd been as cute as you I would have tried it," Dean laughs, much to Castiel's confusion, "-but no sir, I'm not gonna' ditch you without an apology. So erm," He pauses, schooling his face, "-how can I make it up to you?"</p><p>Breathing in a deep, calming breath, Castiel declares, "-I want to see her."</p><p>Dean stands dumbstruck for a moment.</p><p>"Her?"</p><p>"Yes, <em>her</em>. The woman you give these flowers too. I would like to see her."</p><p>"What woman?"</p><p>"It's alright, you don't have to introduce her to me, I simply want to see if she's pretty enough to deserve my flowers."</p><p>Castiel crosses his arms across his chest, and meets Dean's eyes with a glint of determination, a bit confused as to why Dean is acting so dumb. <em>Then again, why would he want to own up to stealing flowers from his neighbour to his girlfriend?</em></p><p>"Oh... You want to see... her?" Dean asks, caught off-guard, which Castiel prides himself upon having caused, and Castiel nods.</p><p>"Yup, I'm not letting you leave for work unless you show me who it is. That's your penalty."</p><p>Dean quirks a lip. His eyes travel behind Castiel, into the distance— a strange, passive expression in his eyes, but Castiel isn't going to back down so soon. He stands firm on his decision, no matter what Dean feels.</p><p>"Alright then, if you really, uh, want to see, erm, to see her—"</p><p>Before Castiel knows it, Dean is grabbing him by the hand, locking their fingers together, and dragging Castiel behind. Castiel stumbles through the bush of shrubs at the front, yelping slightly as he follows Dean.</p><p>"Hey—" Castiel starts, ready to argue, but Dean lets go of his hand, and turns around to face Castiel.</p><p>"You wanted to see her, didn't you? Come on," is all Dean says as he begins walking again, and Castiel is left with no choice but to follow.</p><p>They walk in an awkward silence for a few moments, simply pressed against each other's side, and Castiel notes how Dean's hand lingers at his waist when they cross a signal. It feels strangely warm, and Castiel finds himself overcome with the need to bury himself in Dean's scent, to touch him and envelope himself in Dean's warmth.</p><p>"So, you uh, grow all of it? Yourself?"</p><p>"I do, all around the year."</p><p>"I, erm, I'm sorry, really, I always thought the house next to me was empty, don't know why. I never saw you around when I left for work, and when I'd come back, the lights were already out at your place," Dean admits, and Castiel is glad they've fallen into an easy conversation. Somehow, there are traces of genuineness in Dean's words, and Castiel doesn't find it in himself to doubt him.</p><p><em>Whoever I'm about to meet, she must be one lucky girl,</em> Castiel wonders bitterly.</p><p>"Yes, erm, I work from home. I'm an editor for Larker Publications, and I don't really do well in social places, which is why you may not have seen me much."</p><p>The corners of Dean's lips turn up in a small smile as they walk down a strangely deserted road. The chatter of the suburbia has long since left them, and although Castiel doesn't feel strange being alone with the man, a bit protected in fact, he does find it odd that Dean would lead him to somewhere abandoned.</p><p>
  <em>Oh god. What if I misjudged him and he's actually a serial killer?</em>
</p><p>A lump rises at the back of Castiel's throat as he surveys his surroundings.</p><p>"Erm, Dean, where are we?"</p><p>"How do you know my name?" Dean asks, a bit out of the odd, and Castiel simply gulps.</p><p>"I erm, I visited your house once, when you moved in last month, and I saw the name plate. I think you were at work, so I left you out some pie."</p><p>Dean pauses in his tracks.</p><p>"Wait, that was you? You're Cas?"</p><p>"Erm, yes, why?"</p><p>"Dude," Dean gasps, a wide grin on his face, "-I've been dying to know who baked that pie. The best goddamn pie I ever had in my life."</p><p>"O-oh. Uhm, well, I'm glad you liked it," Castiel says, his eyes wandering down to the ground as a heat flushes across his face. Dean has gone silent as well, a pink hue spread across his freckled cheeks and nose.</p><p>"Yeah, I did, I really did."</p><p>"So," Dean starts, striking up another conversation, much to Castiel's relief, "-<em>Cas</em>. Is that short for something?"</p><p>"Oh, yes, it's uh, short for Castiel."</p><p>"Castiel? What kind of name is that?" Dean chuckles, and Castiel notes how the tension from before has seeped away.</p><p>"It's a biblical name."</p><p>"Figures," Dean grins, "-an angelic name for an angelic guy."</p><p>
  <em>Is that a— Was that a flirtation?</em>
</p><p>Castiel swallows thick, finding himself at a loss for words, when he realises—</p><p>"I never told you it belonged to an angel."</p><p>Dean laughs, a bit awkwardly, but then his bright green eyes meet Castiel's, and somehow, a single glance renders Castiel weak in the knees.</p><p>"I've done some homework of my own, Cas."</p><p>A few moments pass, and Castiel still finds himself lost in the abyss of Dean's eyes, a strange lull drawing him in, causing him to lose all coherence and drown within the pools of truth within Dean's eyes.</p><p>Something nudges against Castiel's foot, and he, still lost in Dean's gaze, fails to hold himself up, as he feels himself falling to the ground with wide eyes, only for a pair of firm arms to wrap around his waist and pull him up.</p><p>"Hey—"</p><p>Castiel grabs at Dean's shoulder, chest heaving and a gasp rolling off his tongue, and at once, he finds himself pressed close to Dean's chest, his hands held tightly over Dean's shoulder, a pair of broad, tight arms bracing his waist— Dean's arms.</p><p>"Sorry, erm, I must have—"</p><p>"No, uh, it's alright."</p><p>Both men pull away, a shiver running down Castiel's spine at the thought of having been so close to Dean, breathing in the air between them, feeling his body meld against Castiel's— like he belongs there.</p><p>
  <em>Damn it. You can't think of him that way. He's taken. Probably creeped out by how you stared at him.</em>
</p><p>Castiel sighs, wallowing in the tension between them, as his gaze wanders around the—</p><p>
  <strong>Lawrence City Cemetery.</strong>
</p><p>"Dean? Why are we in a cemetery?"</p><p>A soft smile spreads across Dean's face as he slips his hand within Castiel's, urging him to follow Dean.</p><p>"Because your flowers, you'll find them all here."</p><p>
  <em>Oh. It's... not a girlfriend?</em>
</p><p>Castiel gulps, a rising hesitance in his chest as he steps away from Dean, unable to read the intense expression on Dean's face. Wordlessly, they enter the cemetery, and a chill lingers in the air, pushing Castiel closer to Dean, who settles a hand at the small of his back, guiding him forward. The touch sends a buzz through Castiel's veins, and he finds himself longing to touch Dean again, to press close against him.</p><p>A few moments after, they stop.</p><p>Dean's eyes wander down to a large, marble grave.</p><p>
  <strong>Mary Winchester.<br/>Loving Mother. Caring Wife. Dutiful Daughter. December 5, 1954 – November 2, 1983.</strong>
</p><p>At once, Castiel finds it hard to string together a coherent sentence.</p><p>
  <em>Winchester? Does that mean...?</em>
</p><p>"Here's the lucky lady, huh," Dean scoffs, a strange weakness in his voice, and Castiel feels an unexplainable tightness in his chest. Something else itches at the back of his head, something obvious and glaring, and that's when—</p><p>"It's the second of November today," He breathes out, drawing Dean's attention to him.</p><p>"Yeah. It's my mother's grave. She died in a house fire when I was four."</p><p>The more Castiel studies the grave, he finds traces of flowers scattered below the grave, peonies, carnations, poppies— those must be the ones from his garden.</p><p>Unable to find an appropriate answer to Dean's words, Castiel reaches a hand out, brushing his fingers through Dean's, rubbing his thumb over Dean's knuckles and giving his palm a soft squeeze. The action draws Dean's attention to it, and he turn back to Castiel, a weak smile on his face.</p><p>"You wanna' say hi?" He asks, a somewhat pleasant note to his tone, and Castiel smiles.</p><p>"I don't know what I'd say. I feel like I'm intruding."</p><p>"I don't think so. Part of you always stay with me when I visit her."</p><p>"I don't...understand?"</p><p>Dean laughs, and pulls Castiel closer, until he's standing near the edge of the grave.</p><p>"Your garden, it's part of you, isn't it?"</p><p>"Of course," Castiel answers.</p><p>"And I always bring some of your flowers here, so tell me then, how you're not part of our conversation?"</p><p>Dean's eyes meet Castiel's, and he notices a sheen of tears glazing Dean's dull, green eyes. A wave of guilt washes over Castiel, as he steps closer to Dean, giving his hand another assuring squeeze. Something flickers within their eyes, a bizarre understanding dancing between their gazes as Castiel finds himself entranced, feeling much more strongly for Dean than he ever has before.</p><p>"She must be watching over you."</p><p>Dean's lips spread in a sad grin.</p><p>"Yeah. I guess."</p><p>"Dean?"</p><p>"Yeah?"</p><p>"I'm sorry if I—"</p><p>"Don't be. You deserve to be here. Although I do have strict rules about introducing people to mom, I bet she's real happy to meet you too. Probably would have knocked me in the head if she found out I was stealing stuff."<br/>A wet laugh rumbles past Dean's lips, and Castiel notes how his bottom lip trembles.</p><p>Without another word, Castiel leans his head against Dean's shoulder, holding his hand as gently as possible, as if it would break. He half-expects Dean to move away from him, instead Dean's hand tightens in his, and his forehead nudges Castiel's.</p><p>"Cas?"</p><p>"Yes, Dean?"</p><p>"You mind staying here for a while?"</p><p>A smile curls at Castiel's lips.</p><p>"I would love to."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Leave a kudos and a comment if you liked it! 🥰</p></blockquote></div></div>
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